


Home, Sweet Home

by Evenmoor



Series: The Trials and Tribulations of Karl Langenscheidt [1]
Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: 5+1 Things, Family, Friendship, Prisoner of War, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:36:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenmoor/pseuds/Evenmoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, "Five Times Karl Langescheidt Was Glad He Was Stationed At Stalag 13, and One Time He Wished He Was Anywhere Else".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> Dialogue that is supposed to be spoken in German is written in italics, as are certain German terms.

Stalag 13 was not exactly like what Corporal Karl Langenscheidt thought it would be. When he'd been told that he was being transferred to the Luftstalag after losing his truck's cargo (though not his life) to an ambush by the Underground, he'd all but finished the job right then and there. It could have been worse – they could have sent him to the Russian front, after all. But Stalag 13 was reputed to be the toughest prison camp in all of Germany, commanded by the Iron Colonel, _Oberst_ Wilhelm Klink, an officer of the old Prussian aristocracy. No prisoner had ever successfully escaped from his _stalag_ , so when Karl arrived, he was expecting to find only the toughest guards, the most ruthless officers and soldiers of the Luftwaffe.

He was doomed.

The first thing he noticed about Stalag 13 was the prisoners cheerfully playing a ball game of rather indeterminate nature – right in front of the _Kommandant's _office. The German guards idled around, barely paying any attention at all. The largest of them, wearing the stripes of an _Oberfeldwebel_ , appeared to be snacking on a bar of chocolate, which immediately set Karl's mouth watering. As he climbed out of the personnel truck, Karl heard a voice speaking in English, a language he spoke to some degree – which no doubt played some part in his transfer here, rather than the Russian front.__

"Schultz," a man said in a sing-song tone. "You've got a visitor!" 

"Tell him to come back later. I'm busy," the sergeant replied in the same language, his mouth full of chocolate. 

Karl came around the truck to stand at attention in front of the enormously fat sergeant and, strangely enough, an American officer, a handsome fellow with brown hair, dark eyes, and a keen grin at odds with his surroundings. _"Sergeant Schultz,"_ Karl said in German, _"I am Corporal Karl Langenscheidt. I have just been transferred here."_

The sergeant instantly hid the chocolate in his coat, suddenly becoming aware that someone was paying attention. The American officer's eyes sparkled. "Don't worry," the American said to Karl in English, "Stick around here a few weeks, and you'll be just as combat-ready as old Schultz here!" 

"Jolly joker!" grumbled Schultz, also in English. "You're a prisoner here, Colonel Hogan. It is my job to see to the guards, not yours!" 

"You keep saying that! I'll try to remember that for next time!" the strange American prisoner quipped, not at all intimidated. When Schultz shot him a bristling look of annoyance, the colonel relented, but it was clear that he only chose to leave of his own volition, rather than any of Schultz's doing. 

Muttering under his breath, Schultz turned his attention to Karl. _"Let me see your papers, Corporal,"_ he said, switching to German. Karl handed over the documents for the sergeant's perusal. After a few moment's inspection, he handed them back. _"Alles en Ordnung, Obergefreiter. Now you will see the Kommandant. Follow me, Corporal."_

The fat sergeant led Karl to the _Kommandantur_. In the outer office, a lovely blonde-haired lady, a veritable vision of German womanhood, sat at her desk, tapping away on a typewriter. She looked up with a brilliant smile as they walked in. Schultz marched right over to her and popped a kiss on her cheek. 

_"Hello, baby,"_ he smiled, his face flushed with pleasure as he addressed her. _"Is the Big Shot busy?"_

The secretary (what an inadequate label for such a beautiful woman!) peeked around Schultz's bulk and favored Karl with a pearly white smile. _"A new man for him to give his indoctrination lecture?"_ she asked the sergeant, her eyes shining with mirth. 

At this moment, Karl couldn't care less about the Iron Colonel. There was nowhere on Earth he'd rather be than right here at Stalag 13, drowning in the loveliness of a fair _fräulein_. 


	2. Small Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simple kindness can go a long way.

Guard duty was boring – it was a simple fact of life. Everyone accepted it. If you weren't standing at attention next to a door or in a tower, you were making endless revolutions around the camp. It was worst when it snowed, because then your fingers and toes froze, and if you were unlucky, then snow fell down your coat, too. There was never enough fuel for the stoves or braziers, either, for either the prisoners or their guards.

It was just this sort of night that Karl Langenscheidt found himself standing guard outside Barracks 2. The frigid wind whipped about him, blowing snow in his face and chilling him to the bone. The barracks was shut up as tightly as possible, though Karl was well aware that the walls were about as solid as a sieve. No one would be making any escape attempts tonight, anyway – a would-be escapee would soon be lost in the snow and freeze to death.

He held no personal hatred for the Allies, unlike many others in the government and military, though he was careful not to show any sort of friendship in front of others. But he knew that Colonel Hogan and the others weren't just good soldiers, they were good men; it was obvious to his eyes, even if it escaped everyone else. Hogan always made sure that all the prisoners got their share of the food, privileges, and Red Cross packages. If only the Wehrmacht had more men like Hogan. Too often it seemed to be every man for himself.

Karl stamped his feet in a meager effort to warm them. No doubt the "Iron Colonel" was hunkering down in his warm bed, dreaming sweet dreams after a nice dinner with good brandy. But for Karl, even simple warmth was a fantastical mirage, the illusion of a delirious mind overcome by the blinding snow. Maybe Klink's pipes would freeze and burst, Karl thought with sudden, uncharacteristic bitterness.

Suddenly, the door to Barracks 2 opened a crack.

"Get in here, Langenscheidt!" a voice snapped authoritatively. Karl didn't hesitate.

Inside, it was cold, but the walls kept out the worst of the wind. Most of the prisoners huddled under their thin blankets, wrapped in whatever protective layers of clothing they had to them. Corporal LeBeau, a small _Franzose_ whom some of the guards called the _Kakerlake_ , rubbed his hands energetically over the stove, where a pot of coffee warmed enticingly.

Colonel Hogan, the inexplicable American officer, offered a steaming cup to Karl. "LeBeau wanted to know how the coffee tastes before he turns it into coffee cake. I said it was a bit bitter, but he wants a second opinion," he said with brisk illogic.

Karl frowned at the cup. He knew his English wasn't perfect, but he didn't think that they _actually_ put coffee in coffee cake. And if the little Frenchman really wanted someone to taste it, there were thirteen other prisoners in the barracks. Not to mention the tiny little fact that they weren't actually supposed to be cooking at all in the barracks. This meant that this had to be a bribe of some sort. "What is it you want from me in return for this, Colonel Hogan?" he asked hesitantly in English.

"You're the one doing LeBeau the favor," the American replied easily.

After a long moment of thought, Karl smiled. " _Dankeschön_ , Colonel Hogan." Hogan was a fair and intelligent man; there really wasn't much he could get from Karl that he couldn't get from Sergeant Schultz, anyway. One cup of coffee on a freezing night didn't seem like much, and yet, at the same time, it meant the world.

_"Nichts zu danken, Obergefreiter,"_ Hogan winked at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Franzose_ : Frenchman  
>  _Kakerlake_ : Cockroach  
>  _Dankeschön_ : Thank you  
>  _Nichts zu danken, Obergefreiter_ : You're welcome, Corporal.


	3. Gay Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karl enjoys himself in Paris. He ignores whatever monkey business Hogan and LeBeau are up to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set during the episode "Art For Hogan's Sake."

This had to be the best day of Karl Langenscheidt's life. Never would he have dreamed that he would find himself in Paris, enjoying good wine at a charming cafe on a beautiful morning. He could just forget the parade of German soldiers passing back and forth, the furtive glances of hatred from the locals, because today was a good day.

Of course he was well aware that Colonel Hogan was up to something sneaky. "Monkey business," Sergeant Schultz called it. Why else would the crafty American convince the fat sergeant to dress up in the uniform of a general? Not that Karl cared all that much. It meant that they could circumvent a lot of ridiculous bureaucracy, for one thing. Few soldiers or checkpoint guards would challenge a general of the Third Reich, not those who wanted to keep their heads, at any rate. 

Karl glanced over his shoulder at the colonel and the little Frenchman, LeBeau, who waited patiently at their own corner table for their contact. LeBeau appeared more anxious than Hogan, but the American officer always displayed a remarkable ability to hide his true feelings in the time that Karl had known him. Hogan truly was a remarkable man, even for an enemy officer.

They hadn't even been in Paris that long, and Karl was already half drunk and well on his way to being completely smashed. It wasn't all that surprising, really; one simply couldn't afford the good stuff on a corporal's pay, especially during wartime. But apparently _herr Kommandant_ had given Sergeant Schultz a generous allowance for their mission. And Schultz had immediately decided to put the money to good use at the cafe. After all, a general would only order a bottle of the best!

_"I hope it takes a long while for their man to arrive, Karl,"_ Schultz intimated to his corporal, clearly enjoying himself just as much as Karl was. _"That way we can stay here longer."_

_"Jawohl, herr General,"_ Karl replied happily, almost giggling. _"I have never been to Paris before. It is a beautiful city! Thank you for bringing me with you."_

The fat sergeant chortled, his red face beaming. "Who else would I take with me on a mission with Colonel Hogan? He's up to his monkey business again. You and I both know to keep out and see nothing!"

_"Ja, ja,"_ agreed Karl, taking another sip of wine. He knew better than to get involved in anything that Hogan had his fingers in. Bad things tended to happen to nosy or inquisitive Germans at Stalag 13. More than one had disappeared without a trace, or been disgraced in abrupt and extravagant fashion. So, as far as he was concerned, Karl was here to enjoy the wine and make sure Hogan and LeBeau got back to camp in one piece. That was enough for him.

It is a strange thing, Karl mused as he swirled the wine in his glass. However much he disliked it, if he hadn't been stationed at Stalag 13, he would never have been able to go to Paris, one of the world's most beautiful and romantic cities. The only thing that could make this day better would be a lovely lady to share a drink with him. Sergeant Schultz, even when dressed up as a general, just wasn't the same! As a pretty young woman walked by their table, Karl sighed appreciatively. For some reason, the French ladies just seemed that much more beautiful than the Fräuleins back home.

_"Not a bad war after all, eh, Karl?"_ Schultz grinned.


	4. Desperate Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karl, in desperation, turns to the one man he knows can save his sister: Colonel Hogan.

"Alright, Langenscheidt, what's eating you?" Colonel Hogan asked with a sense of inevitability.

"'Eating me', _herr_ Colonel?" Karl asked in confusion. Some English idioms still escaped him, even now. At least he knew what a 'fink' was, unlike the _Kommandant_.

The American grimaced, realizing his mistake. "Something's bothering you," he explained. "What is it?"

Karl glanced from side to side. The only other guard in sight at the moment was Fritz, and the lightfingered _Engländer_ Newkirk was distracting him with some card trick or other while simultaneously relieving him of his watch. "It is a friend of mine, _herr_ Colonel," said Karl in a low voice. "I met her at the hotel in Hammelburg yesterday while I was on my twelve hour pass."

"Ah, a lady friend," Hogan smiled sympathetically. "As LeBeau would say, ' _Cherchez la femme._ ' So, what's this girl done that's got you all tied in knots, Langenscheidt?"

Karl shifted his weight uncomfortably. He didn't know exactly how much he could trust Colonel Hogan. After all, they were nominally on opposite sides of the war. "She wanted help with a problem, but I could not do anything," he compromised finally.

Hogan's dark eyes didn't blink as he evaluated the statement. "Big problem or little problem?"

"Oh, it is a very big problem," Karl replied, relieved that Hogan wasn't demanding anything specific. "Greta never has small problems, only big ones."

The colonel let out a small chuckle at that statement. "I've known a few girls like that in my time. So, why can't you help her with her problem?"

"It is far too large for me," Karl said after a moment of thought. "She needs something I cannot give her because I do not have it. And it breaks my heart, _herr_ Colonel." What she needed was a way out. A way out of Germany, a path to freedom and safety.

Colonel Hogan folded his arms across his chest, his eyes narrowing in consideration. "How much does this girl mean to you, Langenscheidt?" he asked shrewdly.

Karl finally broke down. _"Sie ist meine Schwester,"_ he breathed, his voice almost inaudible.

The American colonel sighed. "Your sister," Hogan repeated in English. After a moment, he smiled, clapping Karl on the shoulder. "Don't worry so much, Langenscheidt. I'm sure everything will turn out alright." He turned his attention to where Newkirk was now 'borrowing' Fritz's wallet. "Excuse me, Corporal, I should probably take care of this before Newkirk steals Fritz's underwear, too."

That night, Greta Langenscheidt mysteriously vanished from her hotel room. The Gestapo, who had been investigating her for alleged Underground activities, were never able to discover her whereabouts, though they suspected the notorious Papa Bear had a hand in the fiasco. Major Hochstetter, upset at letting yet another suspected Underground agent slip through his fingers, questioned Karl for several hours, but Karl only told him with complete honesty that he had absolutely no idea where she was and further denied any involvement with her disappearance. Finally, Hochstetter threw up his arms in disgust and washed his hands of the matter. It was completely forgotten when a munitions train exploded shortly thereafter.

But while on his rounds the following morning, Karl found a scrap of paper in the pocket of his coat, with a single word written in his sister's familiar, looping hand:

_Danke_

Karl clasped the paper in his fist and shoved it back into his pocket. He looked through the window of Barracks 2, his throat tight. The Allied prisoners sat around the table, playing cards. Colonel Hogan glanced up and, catching Karl's eyes, winked cheerfully at him.


	5. Saving the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Langenscheidt drives Colonel Klink to a romantic rendezvous in Hammelburg... and the staff car gets stolen. Those black marketeers are getting more industrious by the day!

_"Now, Langenscheidt, you are not to leave this car under any circumstances, is that understood?"_ Colonel Klink cast a suspicious gaze up and down the street. _"This place is crawling with with thieves and black marketeers. And if they steal my car while I'm with Fräulein Schmidt, you will find yourself on a train to the Russian front so quickly you won't even have time to pack your snowshoes!"_

_"Jawohl, herr Kommandant!"_ Karl stammered in reply, saluting the _Oberst_ nervously. Klink might have been the biggest fool to reach the rank of colonel, but, for once, he was actually right about the brazen criminal activity that sometimes went on in town. 

_"Good! And you are not to disturb us, Langenscheidt, unless you want to spend the next thirty days scrubbing the latrines!"_ declared the 'Iron Colonel' officiously. _"Now is the time for love, for romance, not business!"_

Karl suppressed his disgust at the Kommandant's leering eagerness, feeling more pity for the Fräulein spending the next few hours in his company. Whatever she was getting out of the relationship had better be worth the indignity she'd endure. Whatever emotions she felt were concealed behind a mask of delight as she opened her door to Klink, leaving Karl alone with the car. He settled for a long wait, pulling a book out of his coat and engrossing himself in the adventures of a little fellow and a dragon.

Half an hour later, raised voices pulled his attention away from his book. Across the street, a pair of soldiers, obviously drunk, were accosting a much smaller woman carrying a covered basket.

_"Come on, what's in the basket, Fräulein?"_ the first wheedled, laying his hand on her shoulder.

The other laughed coarsely, leering at the unfortunate woman. _"Is it a picnic, Liebling? We could go down by the river and share it with you!"_

As their target twisted away, Karl felt a sudden shock of recognition. This was no helpless Fräulein: it was the little Frenchman from Barracks 2, LeBeau, and definitely out of uniform. He was wearing a dress and a wig, but it was clearly him. And, while the two soldiers might well be drunk, even they would notice something amiss if they groped too closely. And, in public and daylight, there was little LeBeau could do. Karl had to do something.

He hurried across the street towards them, his heart in his throat as he felt utter disbelief at what he was about to do.

_"Greta, there you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!"_ he said, doing his best to sound relieved rather than terrified, and praying desperately that the Frenchman would play along with the ploy.

To Karl's eternal relief, he did. _"Oh, Karl, I'm so glad you're here. I was just on my way to meet you when I ran into these men." _LeBeau's German was passable; Karl could still hear his French accent, but the two drunk soldiers would probably mistake it for Swiss, or not notice it at all. They certainly weren't the brightest of fellows, fortunately.__

Karl turned a big, fake smile on the two louts. _"Thank you both for seeing dear Greta safe. Here, have a drink on me,"_ he said, pulling out the few marks he had on-hand. 

The two soldiers were definitely not the types to look a gift horse in the mouth, let alone a free drink. They more than happily took the money and stumbled on, pleased at their good fortune. LeBeau glared at their departing backs, muttering some most likely less than complimentary words in French before offering Karl a sheepish shrug. 

"Thank you for rescuing me. I was about to punch them both in the nose," the little Frenchman grimaced, adjusting his headscarf.

Karl's lips twitched nervously. "I will not ask why you are here. It is better that I do not know," he remarked uncomfortably. There was no reason for anyone here to recognize the Fräulein with a basket as a POW from Stalag 13, but it could happen; the Gestapo often appeared without warning.

"Yes, but why are you here?" asked LeBeau curiously.

"I'm the _Kommandant's_ driver. He's just over there, visiting Fräulein Schmidt." As he turned to point out the house in question, his heart, which had been racing, just about stopped in its tracks. " _Mein Gott_ ," he whispered in horror.

"What is it?"

"The car! Black marketeers! They've stolen the _Kommandant's_ car!" he gasped, his life flashing before his eyes. _This could not be happening!_

"Well, that's what you get when you date the sister of a black marketeer," LeBeau observed calmly, utterly unperturbed by Karl's discovery.

" _Nein, nein_ , you do not understand! He will send me to the Russian front if he discovers that I let his car be stolen!" Karl felt dizzy and was forced to lean against the wrought iron fence in order to remain upright.

LeBeau set a comforting hand on Karl's shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll get it back for you," he smiled cheerfully. "They owe Colonel Hogan a favor or two."

Smoothing his skirts, the little Frenchman turned and crossed the street, walking right up to Fräulein Schmidt's front door. It took several moments for Karl to realize what he was going to do.

"What are you doing?" he protested in horror. "The _Kommandant_ will recognize you for sure!"

LeBeau smirked confidently. "He hasn't yet. Don't worry!" he said as he rapped on the door. It took only a few moments for Fräulein Schmidt to appear.

_"What can I do for you?"_ she asked, her forehead creased in confusion.

_"The Obergefreiter here misplaced the Kommandant's car a few minutes ago. I think your brother might know what happened to it,"_ the little Frenchman remarked conversationally. _"I know a Papa Bear who would not be happy that Karl got sent to the Russian Front over this."_

She sighed deeply. _"I told Friedrich not to do anything foolish. I see I'll have to have another conversation about this with him."_ Fräulein Schmidt offered Karl an apologetic smile. _"I am sorry about this, Obergefreiter. I will call him at once. At least that will give me a few minutes free of that Dummkopf!"_

_"Dankeschön, gnädige Frau!"_ Karl said fervently, his relief palpable.

Within fifteen minutes, the car reappeared. LeBeau exchanged a few words with the driver in a hurried undertone before the other man simply walked away down the street. Karl was not inclined to pursue him. The little Frenchman handed over the keys with a smile.

"Here you are. Didn't I tell you?" he grinned. "Say, you think you could give me a ride back to camp?"


	6. Anywhere But Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything's going along just fine until the day SHE arrives. Again.

"Well, 'ello, 'ello, what've we got 'ere?" the _Engländer_ Newkirk said, looking up from his laundry. Karl turned around to see where he was staring. A staff car had just driven into camp, pulling right up to the _Kommandantur_. A soldier hopped out to open the door for the passengers: a stiff-looking Wehrmact general and a beautiful woman in a mink coat. A very familiar beautiful woman in a mink coat.

His blood ran cold as he recognized the White Russian, Marya, breezing into the _Kommandant's_ office on the arm of yet another general.

"Blimey, not that bird again!" Newkirk groaned, coming up to stand next to Karl. "She's nearly gotten us all killed half a dozen times or more! I'd best tell the Guv'nor." Clapping a hand on Karl's shoulder, he headed off, post-haste, to Barracks 2. Karl swallowed nervously as he continued on his rounds of the camp - the best thing he could do was what he always did when Marya showed up: hide. The last time she appeared, Karl nearly got blown up when a rocket (a rocket!) went off inside the recreation hall.

A few minutes later, Sergeant Schultz caught up to him, his normally florid face even more crimson than usual. _"Did you see her, Karl? The White Russian, Marya, she is here, in the camp!"_

_"Ja, I saw her, Sergeant. Who was the general with her?"_ Like Karl, Schultz had a keen sense of self preservation, which made them kindred spirits in Stalag 13, where ordinary days had a habit of turning on their heads without warning.

_"That was very important person,"_ Schultz said bombastically. _"General Schneider of the Fürher's staff! The Kommandant will have the Cockroach cook a delicious dinner tonight, and Marya has invited Colonel Hogan so the general can meet an Allied officer."_

_"That woman, she is nothing but trouble,"_ observed Karl, darkly pensive. He didn't know why Marya was there, and, quite frankly, he was afraid to ask.

The sergeant puffed his cheeks. _"Where she is concerned, it is better to know nothing and to do exactly as she says,"_ he agreed.

Karl saw nothing of the visitors for the rest of the night. He did see Colonel Hogan on his way to dinner; the American, wearing his dress uniform, looked as if he were suffering from a particularly vicious migraine. Karl's stomach rumbled dangerously as the delicious aromas of LeBeau's gourmet cooking wafted across the camp. His own meal had been sadly spartan and far too meager to be satisfying.

When he went to bed that night, he tossed and turned uncomfortably for a long while. He caught faint snatches of music coming from the Kommandant's quarters; it seemed that Marya and the general were 'burning the midnight oil,' as the Americans would say. When Karl finally did get to sleep, he dreamed that the prisoners had all transformed into cats, which he had to catch by himself while the other guards stood around and stared at him. He awoke dazed and confused and feeling not at all rested.

After roll call, Sergeant Schultz pulled Karl aside. _"The Kommandant wants to see you. He wants you for a special duty!"_ the fat sergeant chuckled, not noticing the blood drain out of Karl's face.

He entered the _Kommandantur_ in trepidation. Colonel Klink was even more nervous than usual, likely due to the looming presence of General Schneider at his window. Karl swallowed, trying his best to conceal his utter terror as he saluted his superior officers.

_"Langenscheidt, General Schneider's driver has taken ill, so you will take him and Marya wherever they need to go while they're in the area. You will do whatever they ask without question, as befits a soldier of the Third Reich,"_ the Iron Colonel ordered pompously, glancing at the general to see his approval. General Schneider opened his mouth to say something, but the sudden, dramatic entrance of Marya forestalled any reply.

_"Putzi, darling, please tell me you have a driver! I could not bear to wait here in this dreadful prison camp,"_ she said in her extravagant way, draping herself across the general.

He stiffly attempted to disentangle himself from her arms. _"This Obergefreiter will be our driver, Marya. You need not embarrass yourself in such a way,"_ he informed her rigidly.

She shrugged theatrically. _"What can I say? I'm afraid of all these men. You can never know what they're thinking."_

As the general's lips twisted in annoyance, Marya turned her ice-blue eyes on Karl. _"You there, you'll do."_ She stared at him as if she were selecting a piece of meat at a butcher's shop. He almost shivered under her gaze.

Karl prayed that he had time to write his will before he had to drive anywhere.


End file.
